Ironic
by AngelsFred
Summary: Series of ficlets surrounding Angelina's suicide
1. Blood Before Your Wedding

Ironic  
  
Disclaimer: I own all the Johnson's (except Angelina, of course) and Antoinette "Toni" Toussaint. (Actually, I share ownership with FredsAngel, who helped me with the second chapter. The plot, however is all mine.) Everybody else belongs to the brilliant JK Rowling. And the song is Alanis Morissette's (and she owns herself).  
  
A/N: This is a series of ficlets surrounding Angelina's death at 22 and everyone's feelings about it. The song lyrics aren't necessarily in order.  
  
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Blood Before Your Wedding Day  
  
Fred's POV  
  
And isn't it ironic...dontcha think?  
  
I hate this damn song; always have, and now I'll hate it even more. Unfortunately, it also happened to be Angelina's favorite song. And if you're the daughter of Gabrielle Toussaint and Jake Johnson, not only do you get your favorite song played at your funeral, you get Alanis bloody Morissette to sing at it.  
  
Angelina said she liked the song because she said the words were true. And she was right.  
  
It's like rain on your wedding day.  
  
Damn it. The song never ends. Considering the way our relationship was going, it probably would've rained on our wedding day, but we'll never know. She killed herself before we even set a date. Of course, that was my fault. I kept picking fights with her about dates hoping she'd catch on that I wasn't ready to get married. But of course, she never did. I can't blame her. She is-was-a girl and wanted to tie the knot as soon as possible. She had this beautiful, perfectly planned out ideal wedding in her mind. She designed everything from the robes to the bouquet herself. And they would've been beautiful. My Angel was talented like that. And the robes would've been Gladrags originals; her twin sister, Abby, is the fashion-house's top designer. Only one thing stood in the way of her happiness. Me.  
  
But like I said, it's entirely my fault. I shouldn't have asked her to marry me before I was ready. Angel would've waited for me. She was usually pretty patient about things like that. Especially since she knew that I wanted to prove my worth to her family. But the proposal threw her girliness (something that most people didn't even knew existed) into overdrive. For four years, she hounded me about it. And for four years, I gave her fake reasons why we couldn't. We fought about a lot of things during our seven years together, but never anything as serious as when we were going to get married. And even during these fights, we always made up because we loved each other. After all, we knew we were going to get married; we just weren't going to do it right then.  
  
Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you  
  
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right.  
  
Then came last week's fight; the one that caused two deaths. Angelina told me she was pregnant and I thought she was playing a joke. I told her it wasn't a very funny one and she explained to me, in a very colorful manner, that she wasn't kidding. After I got over the initial shock, I accused her of getting pregnant on purpose; of trying to trap me. I don't know why I did it; probably because I'm a hotheaded moron. I knew that she would never in a million years do something like that. And if I had really thought she would, the hurt look in her eyes would've killed that thought.  
  
"Angel. I-I didn't mean that, I swear." I started, but it was too late. She had already Disappararated. And me, being the idiot that I am, let her go. I thought that maybe she needed a little bit of alone time to cool down, like she usually did after our fights. And when I popped into her flat to talk to her the next morning, she had already hanged herself.  
  
And isn't it ironic...dontcha think?  
  
Will this bloody song EVER end?. I'm the only person Angelina ever allowed to call her "Angel" (anyone else who dared try it ended up in the Hospital Wing), and I'm the person that made her become the real thing.  
  
A little too ironic...and yeah I really do think...  
  
Oh, yeah, Angel was right; the words are true. A little too true, if you ask me. 


	2. Girl of My Dreams

The Girl of My Dreams  
  
George's POV  
  
It's meeting the man of my dreams  
  
And then meeting his beautiful wife.  
  
I used to love this song because it was so true. Now its accuracy is downright scary, horrifying even. Especially the part Alanis just sang.  
  
You see, Angelina was the girl of my dreams. Who am I kidding? A gorgeous, brilliant, talented, and rich woman who loved sports, practical jokes, and partying? Angelina Antoinette Johnson was the girl of every guy's dreams. That's why she edged her sisters out as the most desirable and eligible bachelorette in Europe. Abby ended up in the number two spot and Audrey was a close third. Unfortunately, I never had a chance with her. Why? Because my bloody twin brother asked her out first.  
  
I drooled over her for a while and did the usual schoolboy crush things. I stared at her in the common room, in the library, in the Great Hall. I pranked her almost as much as I did Snape. On the Quidditch pitch, I was glad I was the Beater to her Chaser; I got to protect her from the Bludgers. I also sent a few at the heads of Flint, Diggory, and Davies just for looking at her. She deserved better and I knew it. So even though I protected her from the Bludgers and from unworthy men, I couldn't protect her from the one thing she needed to be rescued from. My own brother.  
  
At the beginning of our fourth year, my best friend Lee Jordan told me to ask her out already. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Flashback  
  
"But don't you like her, Lee? After all, you do spend a large amount of time talking about how hot she is when you're supposed to be doing commentary."  
  
"It's all talk. Trust me; I don't want her."  
  
"But why the bloody hell not?! She's pretty, nice, smart, a great Quidditch player-"  
  
"She's my sister."  
  
"She's your sis- What?!"  
  
"Half-sister, actually. Same dad, different mums.  
  
End Flashback  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* So I made up my mind to ask Angelina to go to Hogsmeade with me that afternoon after practice. So after Wood worked us to the brink of exhaustion (and I took a much needed shower), I got ready to make my move. Lina looked great in a pair of well-worn jeans and her favorite tee shirt and a pair of white sneakers. (That's one of the reasons why I loved her. The girl could afford 100 Galleon [A/N: about $727 US] clothes if she wanted them and still dressed like regular folks. Don't know how she kept her shoes so clean, though.)  
  
But just as I opened up my mouth to ask her out, Fred pops up, kisses her cheek and says "Ready to go, love?" Then he winks at me before walking off with her hand in his. I was so shocked I couldn't even move. How could he do that to me, his own twin brother? He knew how much I liked her.  
  
I got pretty good at hiding my feelings after that; we'd known each other for eleven years and Lina never suspected that I was in love with her. It wouldn't have mattered anyway; she was so infatuated with my brother that I could've broadcasted my feelings on the WWN and she still wouldn't have known.  
  
Knowing how much she loved Fred hurt me even more when I had to comfort her after one of their infamous fights (most of which were his fault). Especially since I doubted that he even loved her. He just wanted to say that Angelina Johnson was his girlfriend; he really just wanted a trophy girl on his arm. Why else wouldn't he have set a date for the wedding? For Merlin's sake, he proposed when he was seventeen; we're twenty-two now and he still hadn't married her.  
  
The baby thing was the worst. When Lina found out she was pregnant, I was the person she ran to for help on how to tell Fred. Me. Not Lee or anyone else in her family; they would've all threatened to AK him if Fred didn't get her to the Minister immediately. Alicia would've told her to just abort the baby and move on. I told her to tell him the truth in as serious a tone as she could muster.  
  
It took her two months to follow my advice and it backfired on us. Instead of discussing their options with her, the bastard called her a gold-digger. Apparently he forgot a couple of things: one being that even though our shop is very successful and we're pretty well-to-do now, Angelina was a product of the Toussaint- Johnson family. In other words, she came from money (on both sides), unlike us. And she was willing to risk disownment and her mother's wrath for him. The other thing that slipped his mind was that the term "gold-digger" accurately described him.  
  
Unfortunately, last Wednesday night was the one time that Angelina didn't come see me after a fight with Fred. I wish she had; I could've talked her out doing something so drastic over someone who wasn't worth it. But Lina was sensitive when it came to things like love. It broke her heart to hear Fred say those words to her; to her, it was like he was saying, "I don't love you." On Thursday, Fred told me everything that happened. And then when told about finding her hanging there, it reminded me of an eerie conversation that Lina and I had almost exactly a week before. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Flashback  
  
"Lina, why do you even put up with him? It's pretty obvious that he's not going to marry you if he won't set a date. You should just give him the ring back, finally tell him about the baby, and pray that he's a better father than he was a boyfriend. Then you should find someone who appreciates you."  
  
"Like who, George? You?" She didn't know how close to home her feeble attempt at a joke hit. "I love him. Even though I know that there's a million fish in the sea, there's no one like him. No offence."  
  
"None taken."  
  
"We're soul-mates, George. There's no one else out there for me. Life wouldn't be worth living if Fred wasn't there to share it with."  
  
End Flashback  
  
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Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you.  
  
Her death really snuck up on us. No one was expecting it all. Not even me. and I got a warning of sorts. I took her being there for granted just like everyone else.  
  
And isn't it ironic...dontcha think?  
  
A little too ironic...and yeah I really do think...  
  
Yeah, life's ironic, all right. 


	3. It Figures

It Figures

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my beautiful best friend who demanded that I rewrite this chapter because, in her words, the Toussaint-Johnson twins hating each other was just wrong. And also because I'm broke and can't afford to buy her both a Christmas and half-birthday present this year.

A/N2: I was working on Chapter 10 of WtWS and decided that I should go ahead and edit and post this. I still think the first version of this was better, but because what FA wants, FA gets (she is such a spoiled brat), I changed it. 

A/N 3: Faye, thanks for the e-card. Nice to know someone is happy for us (Dee's brother still hates me).

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Abby's POV

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It's the good advice that you just didn't take  
Who would've thought...it figures.

I hate her. I hate her. I HATE HER!!! How could she do that to me, just leave me all alone like this? I'm going to kill Fred; I _know_ he had something to do with this. I just don't know what, yet. But when George tells me…I will AK him so fast, he won't know what him. (A/N: I know, I know. With the Killing Curse, you die instantly. Unless you're Harry Potter of course.) 

They say everyone goes through three stages of grief: denial, anger and acceptance. I didn't go through denial; I went straight to anger. Anger at Angelina, anger at Fred for whatever he did to her, anger at myself for not recognizing that something was wrong. They also say that only _identical_ twins can sense things; that's not true. Close siblings and best friends do it also. The moment Angelina died is a case in point.

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Flashback

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I'm sitting on my couch making a change to my maid of honor robes. I know Angie had a specific color in mind, but it isn't going to work very well with the wedding theme. She'll understand though; she always does. Besides, I look better in lavender than in violet.

I reach down into the case beside me and lift out the tray of pastel quills. After selecting the lavender one, I immediately drop it. All of a sudden, I can't breathe at all. This isn't happening. I'm only twenty-two; I'm too bloody young to have a heart attack. Then as quickly as it started, I can inhale again and I'm filled with this feeling of…relief and peace. I wonder if… Nah.

Audrey bursts into my living room. "Are you alright?" she asks me. If she didn't look so worried, I'd laugh. Harried and frazzled are not words in my older sister's vocabulary. In fact, she's usually the calm one out of the three of us. Maybe there really IS something wrong.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I couldn't breathe just a few moments ago."

"Like someone was choking you? And then it just stopped?"

"Yeah. So you felt it, too?"

"I guess so. Then that means…"

"It was Angie," Audrey finishes. "Have you talked to her?"

She HAD seemed kind of down at lunch, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. "Not since lunch."

"Do you think we should go see her?"

Should we? "Nah, she can take care of herself."

"You're right; she probably just choked on something."

"A fag most likely." But Angelina never lit up unless something was worrying her.

"She really should give that up."

"I know. It's a disgusting habit."

A few moments of awkward silence pass. Audrey and I aren't as close as we used to be; she grew up and got married. And since she took over our Aunt Toni's old Beater position on the Hollyhead Harpies, we see her even less because of all her traveling. "So I guess I'll get going now. I left the kids with Matt and I'm afraid of what the house will look like when I get back."

"I guess I'll see you later then,"

"Yeah, I guess so." It's hard to believe that the three Toussaint-Johnson daughters used to be inseparable. Looking at us now, you'd think we were complete strangers.

I walk Audrey to my fireplace and she turns to look at me before stepping in. "Look, Abby. I know we don't talk as often as we used to."

What the hell is she on about? "Audrey?"

She cuts me off. "Let me finish, Abigail." I wince; I hate that name. "Anyway, I just want you to know that even though I don't get to see you as much I'd like, I still love you. Tell Angie that next time you see her, will you?"

"Sure, Audrey. And I love you, too, sis."

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But I didn't get that chance.

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Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you

When you think everything's okay and everything's going right.

I cringe. Of all the Muggle singers to play Angie's funeral, why Alanis Morissette? Why couldn't Angie's favorite musician be Sheryl Crow? Then we could have at least some upbeat music here. Angie may have been a bit of a cynic, but she wasn't _depressed_.

Ugh. I loathe this song. Especially now that the lyrics make sense. I hate that I didn't see what was going on with Angelina. She'd been dropping hints that something was bothering her for months and I just ignored them. And I shouldn't have written off the nagging feeling I felt last week. As soon as Audrey stepped into my flat, we should've Apparated into Angie's place. Even if we were too late, we still should have. I abandoned my own twin in her time of need. If either of us deserves to be dead right now, it's me.

__

And life has a funny way of helping you out when  
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up  
In your face.

I shoot a glare in Fred's direction and he winces. I knew he had something to do with this. He even looks guilty. Then I look over at George. My ex-boyfriend seems so distraught. I don't know why that surprises me; I know how much he loved my sister. So much, in fact, that he broke up with me because I reminded him of her. Someone is going to have to help him pick up the pieces. It might as well be me.

I feel so awful for thinking about using my sister's death to my own advantage. But I'm just being realistic here. George's going to need to be consoled. And since he resents Fred for winning Angie (and Lee has Alicia), the job will fall to me. Might as well get the man I love back in the process. As Angelina herself said, opportunity never knocks twice.

But that will have to wait until I reach the acceptance stage. Which might never happen because I'm content being angry. Even though, deep down, the one person I really hate is myself. But for the time being I HATE HER! I HATE HER! I HATE HER!!!!


	4. Good Advice

Good Advice

A/N: Happy New Year to all! I commandeered FA's laptop since my PC crashed. (Sorry, we watched PotC the other night. Great movie, unless you end up spending like 2 ½ hours listening to your girlfriend, your cousin, _and_ your brother go on about how sexy Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom are.) And FA just yelled that chapter 5 of OAS and chapter 12 of WtWS should both be up by next Wednesday. 

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Audrey's POV

I'm living in some kind of dream world; this can't be really be happening. 

I hate being the oldest, the sensible one. It's not fair that I don't get to grieve in the way the way I want to. 

Abby can snap at whomever she likes and act pissed off at the world. But I can't. Why? Because _I'm_ the sensible one, the one that has to hold everything together. Because _I_ have a husband and two small children to take care of. Because _I'm_ the rock they all rely on and if _I_ fall apart, then there's no hope for the rest of them. _I'm_ the strength of the Toussaint-Johnson family. Not my laid-back father, nor my overly emotional mother. But _me._

  
I look over at Matt and my husband gives me a half-smile and squeezes my hand. I need him so much; he's the only that understands that I need to mourn, too. Every night since the… incident, after I've tucked in the kids, I've broken down in his arms. Yes, this rock has cracked under pressure.

It wouldn't be the first time. Being good ole reliable Audrey Annabelle has always forced me to act older than my age. As a kid, I more or less raised Angie and Abby (and Lee, during the summers). When you're dad is a Quidditch legend and your mum is a famous actress and the house elves are really only supposed to cook and clean, tending the younger children is your job. (The plus side is that it prepared me for motherhood.) And becoming Quidditch Captain in my third year? That was hell; me running around trying to control kids up to four years older than me. And when I got that Head Girl badge in Seventh Year, I wanted to mail it back to Madame Maxime. Instead I locked myself in my room for an hour, banged my head against the wall, cried "Why me?" a couple of times, and came out. Why? Because being grace under fire is my place in the Toussaint-Johnson status quo. And I thought that it could prepare me for anything. But I was wrong. Nothing could prepare me for the death of my sister.

Angelina. Sweet, intelligent, talented Angelina. What on earth could have made her take her own life? I noticed she was so close to the edge a couple months ago. Angie had agreed to baby-sit since Abby was out somewhere with her latest flavour of the week – er, month – and she was staying in the guest flat (hiding from Fred, most likely). I don't know what it was but she was devastated, thisclose to the breaking point. She looked like she needed to be at St. Mungo's.

Flashback

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My husband of almost four years and I stand outside our Tudor home in Windsor. Matt looks at me and shakes his head as I rummage through my handbag for my keys. "I know they're in here somewhere," I mumble as I make my way through the clutter at the bottom. I really need to clean this thing out,_ I think._

"You know, we could just Apparate," he says in a matter-of-fact voice.

"No, we can't. We live in a Muggle neighbourhood. They'd get suspicious if we just disappeared into thin air."

"We live in a mansion on top of a hill. You know the philosophy of the nouveau riche: you don't mess with us, we don't mess with you."

"But no family out here is nouveau riche. Us included."

"Which brings us to the motto of those with old money. We don't give a damn about you, so do whatever the hell you want. Just don't lower our property values." He chuckles at his own joke before turning back to me. "You haven't found them yet?"

"No. There's too much stuff in here."

"You know what? For someone supposedly so brilliant, you're more daft than your sisters." My eyes narrow at him, but he doesn't notice. "Screw this. I still say we should've Apparated or gone by Floo. Accio _keys." The keys to our home fly out of the mess in my bag and he unlocks the door. _

"I could've done that, you know."

"Yes, but you didn't_."_

"Shut up."

We walk into the living and the first thing I see is my youngest sister smoking a fag. I clear my throat (as I do not approve of smoking around my children) and she quickly disposes of it with an apologetic look on her face. When I see the expression on her face, I can only wonder how many fags she's gone through.

"A little less than a pack and a fifth of Ogden's," she says suddenly.

"What?"

"I was answering your question. You had the 'How much did she smoke now?' look on your face."

"Do you want to talk about it?" What a stupid query. If she wanted me to know, she would have told me something by now. If there's one thing I've learned about my sisters, it's that they will keep their problems bottled up inside and won't say anything. And if you try to get them to talk, you can expect a nasty hex in return.

"Do I EVER_ want to talk about it?"_

I change the subject. "Did the boys give you any trouble?"

"No, Audrey. They were perfect angels as usual."

Perfect angels? My sons? "How do you get them to behave for you?"

"Simple. I gave Malcolm some warm milk right after you guys left. He's been asleep in his crib ever since. And James and I played a few games of chess. The stipulation of the last game was that if he won, he could stay up until you came home and I'd take him out to his favourite restaurant tomorrow and buy him anything he wanted from 3W."

"And if you win?"

"He goes to bed on time like a good little nephew and leaves me to sulk in peace."

"I take it he lost." Here it comes, a variation of her boast about her superior chess skills.

"I'm sulking, aren't I?" Well, that_ was different._

"So how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. Look, thanks for letting me stay in your guest house."

"It's no big deal. So you headed back to your flat, now?"

"Nah. I'm headed to George's place. Just remember…"

I cut her off. "I know, I know. If anyone is looking for you, I don't know where you are. I've been doing this for four years."

"Yeah." She gets ready to Disapparate. She's always had a certain disregard for house rules, even though she denies it most of the time.

I grab her arm. "You know Abby and I are always here for you, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know."

WELL, ACT LIKE IT SOME DAMN TIME AND TELL US SOMETHING!!! _"I just wanted you to know that you don't have to shut us out all the time."_

"I don't shut you out all the time. It's just that this is on a need-to-know basis and…"

"We don't need to know." Apparently George is the only person who needs to know.

She manages a weak smile. "Yeah. Besides if it was REALLY_ important, I'd tell you." Yeah, right. Obviously nothing in her life is really important then. "Tell Jamie we'll come get him at ten."_

She and George. These days, she spends more time with him than she does with Fred. Sometimes, I wonder why they don't just get together. Even James has taken to calling him Uncle George. "Jamie? How do you get away with that?"

"I'm the only one in this family who doesn't ignore him. Talk to your son sometime; you could learn something." 

Who does she think she is, telling me how to raise my child?! "Like what?"

"That he prefers being called 'Jamie' to 'James' since he hates both his first and middle names. That's he's actually a better chess player than anyone gives him credit for and a helluva pool player, for that matter. Or that he's well on his way to ending up exactly like his Aunt Lina." Then after giving me that ominous comment, she Disapparates.

End Flashback

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It's the good advice that you just didn't take._  
Who would've thought...it figures_.

Something told me to go after her, to force her to tell me what was wrong. But I didn't. Just like I didn't heed her advice about talking to my eldest son. I look over at the other side of the church and see James sitting beside George, both of them with tears in their eyes.

Angie once told me about a theory proposed by Ray Bradbury. I forget what it's called, but it goes like this: if a butterfly flaps its wings, it can cause a typhoon on the other side of the world. She said that it meant that the smallest action affects everything else. I wish I could go back in time and find the butterfly that ruined my life. In one fell swoop, it ruined my life completely. It took my sister away from everyone who loved her and took my son away from me.

I glance at James again. He hasn't said a word since her death. Actually, I take that back. He hasn't said a word to his father or me since the suicide (God, I hate that word); he talks to George quite often. He's gotten just as good at keeping his feelings to himself as his favorite aunt. And George keeps his confidence just like he did for Angelina. And believe me, we've tried everything short of truth-telling potion to get him to tell us what James says.

I hear a soft whimper on my right and I turn to see Malcolm in Matt's arms. It really bothers me that in a few years my seven-month-old will look at pictures of a smiling Angelina waving at him and ask questions. Questions like "Why are there two Aunt Abbys in this picture?" Or when he's even older and looks at the same photos: "How come no one told me that Aunt Abby has a twin? How come I've never met her? Was she disowned?" Meanwhile, James will become increasingly withdrawn and Angie's cryptic statement will make sense. And everyday I'll wonder if it will be the day that he'll self-Avada. Matt wants to send him to send him to a shrink, but I don't think it'll do him any good. It didn't help Angie and, frankly, James is becoming more and more like her everyday.

And you know what scares me the most? I can see all this coming and I can't do anything to stop it. That my life is going to fall apart and while everyone feels pity for me, I'll have to keep on going and hide my pain. Because that what the strong, sensible one does.

__

And isn't it ironic...dontcha think?

Just like Angelina did._  
_

_  
_

  



	5. Helping You Out

Helping You Out

A/N: Originally this was going to be from Jamie's POV, but I thought I'd hold off on that for a couple of chapters and do Angelina's parents' point of view first. Why? I wanted to see how their contrasting personalities (fun-loving Jake Johnson vs. the "Ice Queen" Gabrielle Toussaint) would react to Angie's suicide. And also because, despite the fact that this is an angstfic, Jamie is already a severely messed up kid and losing one of the two people that he's close to would push him even further off the deep end and I don't have enough time to delve into his psyche right now. (The other is George, who closed off to everyone except Jamie. And, of course, he has his reasons for not wanting to confide in Fred.) Wow. I wonder if I can submit this story to the APA as a psychological study. Anyway, this one is Gabrielle's POV. I tried to make her as true to character as I could, still retaining that standoffish nature but making her (almost) human. And being French (and therefore superior to us English-speaking folk), she doesn't use contractions because they are so…common.

A/N 2: Sorry about the late update, but finals week really kicked my arse. And then I spent almost a week going to concerts with FA (Switchfoot is awesome live). Watched her perform a song with her other (::cough:: **crappier** ::cough::) band Saturday night; she's a better singer than we give her credit for. And chapter seven of OAS should be up sometime in the next two days. She thought that getting a 3.8 last semester exempted her from working, so I'm holding her SOTY album hostage until she finishes. Speaking of SOTY, why didn't they just call it _Twisted Love Songs from Crazy Stalkers_ instead of _Page Avenue_? I mean, after all, that's all the album is. I don't understand why she likes them so much; they're just another cookie cutter screamo band.

Gabrielle's POV

_Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you_

When you think everything's okay and everything's going right

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS! My daughter! My youngest! _Mon béb_! _Ma petite fille_! How could she do this to me? Her own mother! The woman that brought her into the world! How could she do this to her family? To her friends?

It's just not fair! I gave this girl everything she ever wanted and she just goes and kills herself like an ungrateful brat.

I know that sounds a bit harsh and makes it sound as if I deserve the title of "Ice Queen," but I cannot help it. I do not understand how she could do such a thing. I would have done anything for her, but all she has ever done has hurt me. Constantly. Sometimes I think it became a game to her: see how many times you can shatter your mother's heart and she will forgive you. Towards the end she would not even speak to me. I knew that something was wrong – had been for a long time – but how do you tell someone "I love you" when it is clear that she does not even want to see you?

Never has she looked before she leaped. Never has she thought of the consequences of her actions. She has always been impulsive. Why should this have been any different? There is a nagging feeling that she had been planning this for some time. That something had just pushed her over the edge and she was prepared for it. Yet, at first, I was so surprised. Jake says that hindsight is 20/20, whatever that means. We have been married for almost twenty-seven years and I still do not understand half of his ridiculous English expressions.

Suicide.

I do not like that word. Self-murder is what they should call it. Destroying your family, alienating your friends and breaking your poor mother's heart is what they should call it. No matter what they call it, it sounds so nauseating.

It should sound nauseating because that is what it is. Just thinking about the fact that I am going to bury my daughter in a few hours makes me want to vomit. Twenty-two year-old witches are not supposed to die, especially in the Toussaint family. My own great-grandfather is still alive at almost one hundred fifty years old. Life is not supposed to work like that; you only die young at the hands of an extremely powerful Voldemort (yes, I said Voldemort; it is silly to call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) and that no longer exists.

Looking around, I see people everywhere. Only a week ago, I thrived on being on the society pages of the _Daily Prophet_. Hell, I actually have an award for being in the most issues of _Witch Weekly _ever. But this is the absolute last event that I want the paparazzi at. Sweet Merlin, cannot a woman grieve for her deceased daughter in peace?

Of course not. At least, not if you are the youngest daughter of the wealthiest family in France, magical or Muggle. Nor if you are the wife of the heir to the third-largest wizarding fortune in Britain. Not if you are the cousin (albeit _distant _cousin) of the head of the wealthiest magical fortune in Britain. And _definitely_ not if your deceased daughter was engaged to the biggest piece of white trash in Britain.

Yes, I am talking about Frederick Weasley. And referring to him as "white trash" has nothing to do with his poor background or his family. Personally, I think Arthur and Molly are brilliant people and I respect them and value their opinions far more than some people in my own family (my cousin Lucius and his wife Narcissa, for example) and the same goes for their children. But Frederick… He has never been good enough for her and on some level, I think that she knew that. The fact that around the age of fifteen she started spending more time with George than with him was enough evidence of that. The fact that she wrote to Isabelle that she should have just gone to the Yule Ball with George when she thought that Frederick was never going to ask her more than enough. Despite having been an "official" couple for almost two years at the time.

Isabelle insists that he had something to do with this, because _her_ twin would never do something like this. I beg to differ; this is exactly the type of thing that Antoinette would do. But I do not doubt for one second that Frederick was behind this along with the baby. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure see that Antoinette was pregnant, especially not to her own mother's eyes. She had become irritable (not that she had not always been) and sank into a deep depression. But she would not talk to me about anything.

That should not have surprised me, though. She has never said anything about her personal life to me. She has always resented me. On some level, all my children do. For the little things, like calling them by their _deuxièmes prénoms_… I think the English call them "middle names." They all hated that because they did not understand why I did it. It was not my intention to appear aloof and detached; I wanted my children to be proud of their French heritage.

Antoinette hated it the most. Why? Because she was named after the illustrious Toni Toussaint. She felt like she was living in her aunt's shadow. But I do not understand why she did; after all, she is exactly like my sister. Same dark brown eyes, same impudent nature, same awful sense of style… And also like my sister, she spent her short adult life feeling hopeless, drowning her sorrows in firewhiskey, cigarettes and that Muggle drug…the one with the needles...heroin. She always wore long-sleeved tops so that no one could tell, but her father and I always suspected. And when I saw her with glazed-over, bloodshot eyes after one particularly wild binge and the marks on both her arms (while at a party for her father in Jamaica, no less), I knew. And I knew Frederick knew also, because she was strutting around in an absurdly small bikini on his arm. And when I approached her about it, she told me to "fuck off" and asked why I was worried about her now since I "never gave so much as a fuck" about her now.

But she was wrong, as usual. Despite what she thought, I cared about her deeply. I know that I shouldn't play favourites among _mes filles_, but Merlin help me, I did. And Antoinette was my favourite. I tried to hide it by criticising her far more than her sisters, but she was. Why? Because, besides little James, I'm the only one who truly understood her. But she never gave me a chance to show her.

Me understand anyone. A big laugh, right? I'm as capable of empathy as my cousin and his wife, right? No matter what you think of me, I stand by my words. I look over to the other side of the chapel. Alicia Spinnet and Lee are sitting near Isabelle and Lee has his arm around his older sister. Darryl Jordan is seated beside Alicia. And beside him…the very bane of my existence.

Francesca Elisabeth Laurence-Jordan. I can barely even say her name without becoming physically ill. Who is she? The mother of Lee Christopher Jordan. My husband's first—and only real—love. Petite and perspicacious, she is perfection incarnate. As strong as Jake is, she is his one weakness. No other woman could convince him to be unfaithful to his pregnant wife. No other woman could convince him to remain unfaithful to his wife years after the incident (I know what he does when he takes business trips to Scotland). There are a million names I could call her, but I won't because I am better than that; I am better than _she_ is. I am better than that bitch, better than that harlot, _mieux que ce_ **_femme écarlate_** (A/N: loosely translated, "better than that whore")!

So why did I take him back? The same reason Darryl and Antoinette remained with Francesca and Frederick, respectively. Because they loved them. Because I love Jake. I would give my life to protect his. In fact, when I found out that he was still seeing _her_, it felt like my whole world had ended. Like I had nothing to live for. I wanted to self-Avada. But I could not. The public image of my family would have been ruined. And…I did not have the courage to turn my wand upon myself.

And isn't it ironic...dontcha think?

Perhaps I should have named my daughter after me instead of my sister. After all, she relived my life. The only difference is that whereas I simply detached myself from everyone in the name of public image, she expressed her despair (though it was through highly unhealthy habits). And when the pain finally got to be unbearable, she detached herself permanently—something I have wanted to do for years, but could never bring myself to do. Does that make her better than me, something that she had always wanted to be? Maybe, maybe not, but it does make her every bit the Gryffindor Lioness she was.

Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out  
Helping you out

I do believe that she is watching this, listening to what is going on in everybody's minds. Well, Antoinette—Angelina—wherever you are, I just want you to know that I love you. And thank you for giving me the courage to do later tonight what I should have done years ago.

__


End file.
